Maybe It's Time
by AllyMaine
Summary: The show is over and they've gone their separate ways. They remain committed to being together, but the time still isn't right. Even though it's painful and frustrating sometimes, they get pretty good at staying connected however they can. Thank you, Instagram. AU. Bristen.


For the past 6 years, he'd spent most of every drive to Virginia thinking about her. Hell, he spent almost all of his time thinking about her, regardless of what he was doing, but whenever he went back to the state where they'd both grown up and their families still lived, he was struck by irony of the two of them having started out in the same place, then the circuitous path they'd taken to find each other, and what a miracle it was they had done so, even though they were not able to be together like they wanted to be. He'd lived most of his life not even knowing there could be love like they felt for each other, and did not take the gift for granted.

On this trip he was going back to his alma mater, a journey that was becoming more frequent since his daughter had matriculated there in August. There was a bittersweet quality to being back there; he'd spent some of the best days of his young adulthood there, and made some of the most formative decisions of his life, including the ones that led him to be here with his wife and this child instead of with the love of his life. Not that he would wish away any of his children, and he didn't honestly think having made different decisions at that time would have led him to her any sooner or made their path any easier. Still, nostalgia for his youth combined with the ache of missing her ended up causing him to spend a large portion of the weekend contemplating how things might have been if they'd somehow managed to find their way to each other sooner. He wanted her with him to share these moments, to meet the people from his past; he wanted to show the world she was his. So far, they hadn't figured out how to make that happen.

Since he hadn't been alone all weekend and on Monday he'd been driving back to Nashville, he'd not had a chance to talk to her for days. They'd texted a few times about how excited he was to be playing a gig with his college bandmates again, about her weekend with her son, and plans they each had for the upcoming week.

He was finally back in New Orleans on Tuesday. He'd finished a long day on set and was blessedly back at his hotel, and even more blessedly, alone, about to settle in to wait for her to call, checking Instagram for the post she'd promised during a brief, but eventful, phone call earlier in the day. He was curious about how she was going to put something out there that he would know was "just for him". They'd both played this game before, but it was always fun to see how it played out.

Not long after he'd returned to the hotel and showered, the post, a video, appeared on her feed. Riveted, he watched as she flung her head forward, flipped her hair so it covered her face, then flipped it back, smiled flirtatiously at the camera, made a silly face, then stood up straight, as the camera pulled back to fully reveal her. She was wearing a colorful, playful dress that was not in any way slinky or overtly sexy, yet she looked drop dead hot without even trying. The dress was short enough to show off her incredible legs, and it had a narrow opening deep down the front that revealed just a glimpse of cleavage.

He had a predictably visceral reaction to how good she looked; his propensity to get a massive hard-on from just looking at her had proved inconvenient for him in the past. He knew though, from their earlier conversation, it was the hair flip, seemingly just a nod to the universally-acknowledged fact that her hair was the most glorious hair on the planet—THAT was the secret message for him.

"l'll be damned. She is something else." he thought. He smiled, impressed but not surprised by her cleverness. Not only was she the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, she was also the most intelligent. She was so alluring, and there was no chance he would ever be bored by her. He eagerly anticipated the nice long give-and-take they would have about how she looked in the video and the things he wanted to do to her as a result of having watched it. As he settled in to wait for her call, he poured himself a drink, and thought back to their phone conversation that morning…

He'd had a break from shooting at about 10:00 am. He knew she had the day off, and that she'd arranged for the nanny to take her son to school so she could sleep in a bit, but he texted her just after 8:00 am Los Angeles time, because he couldn't wait any longer to hear her voice. He sent the text, "Hey, baby. You up?" as he walked off set and toward his trailer.

About a minute later, she texted her reply: a photo of herself, still in bed, propped up against her pillows, her glorious hair a shade lighter than usual for her latest role and in a tangle around her face. One strap of her peach silk camisole had slipped off her shoulder, almost fully revealing the ample swell of her breasts, the neckline dipping just shy of exposing her visibly hard nipples. Her eyes were hooded, her lips slightly parted. He stared at the photo, and felt his body start to respond immediately, as he pressed send to dial her number.

"Hey, you" she answered, her voice sleep-smoky, but with a playful lilt to her tone.

Grinning, happy just to hear her voice, he replied, "Hey, gorgeous. I can see you ARE up…but just barely. And barely dressed, too. Just the way I like you."

He entered the trailer and sat down, putting the phone on speaker as he stared at the photo again.

She giggled a little, and then asked, "How about you? I take it you are…up…and dressed?"

He shifted uncomfortably and tried to adjust himself, but it was no use. "Oh, I'm up in more ways than one. And very sadly, fully dressed. But that might have to change."

"Do tell," she purred.

"I just walked back into my trailer and that shot you sent…baby, just looking at you, looking like that…damn." he said, his voice low and slightly gruff. "And your hair; it's all messed up. I thought I was the only one who got to mess up your hair like that."

"So, about that…" she said, "Last night, I was looking at that photo of you. With the bus?"

He thought for a minute, wondering exactly where she was going with this. "You mean the Instagram about the Nashville bus tour?" he replied, indulgent of her willful semi-ignorance of all things social media. Truth be told, she actually followed it pretty closely, and they both had secret accounts on Twitter and Instagram, created so they could interact in plain sight, a clandestine and titillating way of communicating with each other.

"Yeah, yeah, Instagram." She replied, true to form, as he laughed at the dismissive tone she used when he felt the need to point out the name of the platform on which the post appeared.

"So… I was looking at that post right before I went to sleep." Her voice dipped a sultry octave or so as she told him, "You looked SO good, babe. So good."

Teasing her, he replied, "Although I definitely want you on my bus, all the time, that photo isn't even from this year, you know. I've been told I look even better now."

"Is that right? You might owe me a more current photo, then," she told him, although of course she'd seen recent photos and had, in fact, been the one to tell him, in no uncertain terms, that she was a big fan of the look he'd adopted for his new show.

He followed up, in a more subdued tone this time, "I can do that. Meanwhile, weren't you gonna tell me how your hair got so messed up?" He was not about to be derailed from that provocative line of conversation. He'd been teasing her, but there was a part of him that jealously wondered if someone's ass needed kicking.

Speaking slowly, she continued, "So, I went right to sleep after I saw that picture of you. Then right before I got your text this morning, I dreamed you were here with me. The dream was VERY real." She paused before softly murmuring his name, "Chip." Then, taking a deep, ragged breath, she said "I came so hard I woke myself up."

"Jesus, Connie," he hissed. He didn't have long before he had to be back at work, but now his erection was straining relentlessly against his zipper. He unzipped his jeans and sucked in his breath as he freed himself from his boxers. "What you do to me….I'm hard as a rock." he growled.

"Mmm," she moaned. From the noises he made, she could tell what he was doing. "I need to feel that. I wish you could feel how ready I am for you, again, right now." She moaned again softly as she touched herself through her silk panties, then took in a sharp breath as she slipped a finger inside.

"You're making yourself so wet for me, aren't you?" he asked. He could picture her rubbing herself, the look on her face as she felt the friction of the wet material against her clit. He circled the head of his cock with his thumb, spreading around the slippery moisture that appeared there.

She could only manage a gasping affirmation to his question. She continued to pant, and he could tell she was very close to the edge.

He suddenly realized he had not locked the door, so stood up to do so, one hand on his throbbing erection as he grabbed a t-shirt from his overnight bag on the way back to his seat. Just from listening to her, he was truly about to explode. He grasped himself, trying to stave the inevitable, but it was happening, no matter what. "Fuck, baby." he said. "I'm ready for you, too. It's been so long. It's not gonna take much for me." As he looked at her photo and imagined his mouth on hers, her mouth on his cock, he grunted as he sat back down and began to stroke himself.

Still staring at the photo, he told her, "I'm looking at you right now, Connie. Are your nipples still hard like that? Pinch them for me, baby."

Her small, sharp cry told him she'd done what he asked, and he said, "Do it harder. I want to hear that sound you make when I bite them while I'm inside you."

At that, she thrust her fingers deep inside herself and tugged sharply on her erect nipple, then moaned gutturally, loudly, "Oh, Chip, yes."

"Yeah baby, that's right, that's it. THAT sound," he panted back. "I'm almost there."

She was so close, pulsing, her walls beginning to clamp down on her fingers, now teasing the other nipple into an even harder point, and she spoke with difficulty, "Chip, oh yeah, babe, I want you to come for me now."

"I am Connie, for you, I'm coming right…oh Jesus, fuck…now," and with a loud groan, he lost it.

She cried out as she came, then began moaning his name over and over; the sound he made when he came had been her undoing, and she'd tumbled over the edge right after he did.

Breathing heavily, he came down from his orgasm, cleaning himself up with the t-shirt, trying not to think about having to be back at work in just a few minutes. He was spent, but yet somehow still aching with a need for her.

He could hear her breathing deeply on the other end of the line, and after a few moments, she softly said, "My love." It was not a part of a question, merely an affirmation.

"Sweetheart," he breathed back.

After a bit, she said, "I know you must need to get back to set."

He closed his eyes and breathed out. "That's true, unfortunately. I have just about enough time left to tell you how very, very much I love you. Can we talk tonight?"

"We can. Although, I have that magazine event. So it'll be a bit late." she cautioned.

"I remember. It doesn't matter how late. Call."

"I'll try to put something on the Insta-thing while I'm there, to hold you over—when you see it, know it's JUST for you. I might even brush my hair before I go so you can mess it up again later." she said teasingly.

He smiled broadly "That would be my pleasure, darlin'. I'll be waiting for you."

"Bye, babe. Love you the most. Until tonight." she said, and made a kissing "Mwah" sound, before ending the call.

He looked at the photo a little longer, thinking for the millionth time how very lucky he was to be the one, of all the men on the planet, with whom this amazing woman had fallen in love. And also for the millionth time, he thought about what it would take to make her his forever, more determined than ever for it to happen, and soon. He stepped out into the warm October day, and with the Mississippi River glittering in the distance, snapped the photo of himself she'd asked for, then started counting the hours until he could hear her voice again.


End file.
